Scott loved a good mosh pit. It didn' t matter what was troubling him, ohe handsome high-school seniot into the flow of the pit - the thundering roar of the music, the gut-poundi of the drums and bass, and the feeling of bodies stantly colliding against his - he' d let everything go and just disappear into the moment. Scott didn' t ds, he didn' t even drink much, so the white-hot jolt of adreosterohat surged through his body i was the deepest, purest release he had.
Sometimes, when he was in the zone, wrestling gave him the same release. But wrestling was so much work - the stant harangues from his hard-assed coach, the neverending dieting and maki, the long hours of training. But despite all the rigor, Scott was glad he wrestled - he had a winning record for all four of his high school seasons, and the sport had left him superbly ditioned, with a trim, muscular body - 5 ft., 9 inches, 135 lbs. of sinewy muscle, firm pecs, and washboard abs. Todd kept his fiery red hair shaved so he didn' t have to muss with it wheing or sh.
Tonight' s show was a good ohe headliner was 311, outdoors uhe hot Iowa sun at the local fairgrounds. They had certs here all summer. 311 played sweet catchy reggae and hard pounding rock, and mixed it up just right so the pit would be swaying and skanking one mihen explode into a fury of pummeling arms and bodies smashing into one another. Scott had been looking forward to this cert for weeks. In fact, he was in such a good mood that he even brought his kid brother, Tommy. God knew where he was, Scott hadn' t seen him sihe two of them walked through the ticket turnstile onto the fairgrounds. Tommy was only 15 but Scott wasn' t worried, the kid could take care of himself.
Scott had e dressed for a hot summer day, in blue nylon shorts and a wifebeater. The flimsy cotton undershirt had disappeared long ago - it practically melted off in the sweat and grime of the pit. Scott preferred moshing barechested anyway, and he had